


Looks Like Snow

by deadcellredux



Category: Cowboy Bebop
Genre: Advent Challenge 2011, Gen, Unresolved Sexual Tension, scrooge spiegel, worst christmas ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-03
Updated: 2011-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcellredux/pseuds/deadcellredux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s nothing in the cabinet except some cocktail peanuts and a packet of instant noodles.</p><p>“Well,” Spike says aloud, “no elves were <i>here</i>.”</p><p>“’Tis the season,” comes Faye’s voice behind him. He turns, cold and miserable, and there she is, in a wool hat, fleece pajamas and slippers. She’s holding a bottle of whiskey; takes a swig. “What did <i>you</i> not get from Santa this year?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looks Like Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Mild spoilers for Faye's backstory

Something is wrong with the boiler system; it’s December 25th and already a _merry fucking Christmas_ as Spike flinches his way through an agonizingly cold shower. The tiled wall is, _of course_ , made of steel; this is all the more infuriating when Spike tries to lean away from the stream of water in-between quick rinses of his hair. He jumps from the shock of the frigid surface against his skin, right back into the seemingly sub-zero stream of water; shampoo drips in his eyes and burns. He pounds his fist hard against the wall in frustration; jumps again when someone-- _has_ to be Faye-- pounds back just as hard from outside. The resulting rattle is hard enough to knock soap and shampoo bottle and razor from where they rest on a ledge.

“Bitch,” Spike snarls, as he tries to wipe suds and cold sopping hair from his stinging eyes, kicking out a foot to try and locate the gnarled bar of soap somewhere on the shower floor.

***

After blasting his hair to frizzy proportions with the pink hair dryer Faye left sitting on the bathroom sink, Spike wraps himself in a blanket over his clothes and shuffles into the kitchen. There’s nothing in the cabinet except some cocktail peanuts and a packet of instant noodles.

“Well,” Spike says aloud, “no elves were _here_.”

“’Tis the season,” comes Faye’s voice behind him. He turns, cold and miserable, and there she is, in a wool hat, fleece pajamas and slippers. She’s holding a bottle of whiskey; takes a swig. “What did _you_ not get from Santa this year?”

“Some hot fucking water,” Spike says, and eyes the bottle in her hand. “Faye. It’s eleven-thirty in the morning.”

“Merry Christmas to _me_ , then. Water was hot when _I_ took a shower,” Faye says. She holds out the bottle and he takes it anyway, shoots a long swallow and winces at the burn.

“Is Jet gonna fix this shit or what?”

“Jet’s not here. Had business off on Mars. Took Ed with him.”

“ _Mars_ ," Spike echoes. “What for? When’s he coming back?”

"No idea," Faye shrugs. "But we're on cruise control. I just hope they get back for at least _part_ of Christmas."

“Oh please,” Spike says, rolling his eyes. “Like it even matters.” He smacks the cabinet shut and pours himself a glass of water.

“Alright, Scrooge Spiegel,” Faye mutters as she turns away. “I’ll be under the mistletoe with Jack Daniels, if you need me."

Ein nudges Spike’s ankle with his nose, looks up at him and whimpers, hungry. "Don't look at _me_ ," Spike says. "I got nothing. Hey Faye!" Spike calls after her as she walks out of the kitchen, "Ein can keep you company. Put some reindeer antlers on him or something."

Faye raises her arm to silently give Spike the finger as she disappears around the corner.

***

Spike finds her sitting on the bridge sometime later, after a half-hour or so of mindless broadcasts on the television and a quiet stretch of time spent cleaning his gun. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of one of the windows, the bottle of whiskey standing besides her drained considerably.

“Hey,” he says, and she looks over at him, then back out the window, hunching forward. He’s still got the blanket wrapped around him, and he pulls it tighter as a chill ripples through the air.

“The hell is with you, anyway?” he asks. He walks over and stands besides her, waiting for an answer. She figures it’s the closest he can get to his version of asking _what’s wrong_.

She hears his stomach growl.

“I’ll be right back,” Faye says, and stands. She stretches; Spike leans down to pick up the bottle and takes another swig, sits down on the floor as she leaves the bridge.

He turns to look up at her when he hears the shuffle of her footsteps returning. She’s carrying a quarter-full bottle of peanut butter and two metal sporks she’s taken from the kitchen. She holds one out to him.

"Merry Christmas," she says.

“Where did you get _that_?” Spike asks, and something between relief and alarm is audible in his voice.

"Hid it under my bed."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Hey listen, a lady has to look out for herself, alright?" she shakes her head as she sits down next to him, unscrews the top and holds it out. He dips his spork in to pull out a glob, scoops some off on his fingers to hold out to an over-eager Ein before putting the protein-laden utensil in his mouth.

They devour the peanut butter in silence, washing it down with whiskey. The combination is disgusting, but it’s better than nothing, and Ein seems like a beast newly rejuvenated after a few sloppy mouthfuls from Spike’s hand. When it’s empty, Faye puts it aside, wraps her arms around herself as she shivers.

“Heat’s back on,” Spike says. “Gonna take a while to warm up though. Hey,” and when she looks at him he’s holding his arm out, lifting the blanket. He nods his head in indication for her to join him under it, and she slides closer, pulling it around her shoulders. He retracts his arm a bit swifter than necessary, making it more than obvious that he was not, in fact, offering to put his arm around her.

Faye crosses her legs; their knees touch.

“Look at it,” Spike says, and points out at clusters of white stars beyond the window, varying in brightness and proximity. “Looks like snow.”

Faye frowns.

“Okay, not really. Listen, I’m _trying_ here.” He pulls a cigarette from his pocket as Faye takes a drink from the bottle and sets it down between them; Spike taps the cigarette several times against the floor to pack it further before putting in his mouth. The only sounds on the bridge are the snap of his lighter and crackle of paper as he inhales, until finally, Faye speaks.

“Do you have memories of real snow?” she asks. “Real Christmases? With family, or… whoever?”

Spike involuntarily bites down on the filter. Faye watches the flicker of a frown cross his face as he keeps his eyes beyond the window, and he doesn’t answer.

She sighs and picks up the bottle. “Hey, at least you’ve got the privilege of _having_ memories.”

“Don’t get all emotional,” Spike snaps, abruptly. Ein shifts on the floor where he’s splayed out in front of them, startled. “I’m not dealing with that shit right now.”

Faye rolls her eyes and takes a long drink from the bottle. _No_ , she thinks to herself. _The truth is that you_ can’t _deal with it, you goddamn lunkhead_. She’s warmer now, finally, ensconced in the radiation of their body heat, and she pulls off her hat, ruffling her hand through the hair that’s been plastered flat to her scalp.

“Nice helmet,” Spike says, and smiles a little as he looks at her head, raises the bottle to his lips again.

“Like you should _talk_ ”, she says. “Did you use my hairdryer?”

“What?” Spike asks, running a hand self-consciously over his hair. “It was cold. I needed to dry it. Big deal.”

“You look like a wild animal,” Faye says. “No offense, Ein.” she pats the dog’s head where Ein’s resting it flat against the floor, and Ein places a paw over his snout with a whimper.

“Anyway,” Spike says. “Really though, it’s pretty out there, today.” He offers Faye a cigarette, and she takes it.

Shooting stars flicker in the distant void of black, and the clusters of tiny bright lights glimmer like edges of frost. Faye notices that Spike never bothered to move his knee from where it’s pushing, obstinately, against hers.

Ein starts to snore and Spike ruffles the fur between his ears. “So you said they’re definitely coming back today, right?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Faye says, and they stay sitting there together, in silence.


End file.
